


All the world is saying

by ReasonPapers



Category: Golden Girls
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-11-09 05:47:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17996063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReasonPapers/pseuds/ReasonPapers
Summary: 'I miss her, Dorothy.  And I think about her—a lot.  It just sort of… makes me wonder.’‘Does Jean know that?’‘Oh, no.  No, I could never wonder with someone else’s feelings.'





	All the world is saying

She knew her stories made her friends want to pull their hair out.  Still, each time one came into her head, she brimmed with innocent conviction—that this one was too good, it was different… she had to tell it!  For months now, though, when she and the girls were talking over cheesecake or chatting on the lanai, at the same moment when her brain began to send its jubilant ‘Back in St Olaf’ signals, she lost track of the girls in front of her and felt a little flutter of… something. 

Jean *liked* her St Olaf stories.  Of course, Jean also liked her—quite a lot—and that turned out to be the trouble.  But still, they’d parted in friendship.  When Rose was retelling the incident with Hermann Schlaginhauffen, Jean laughed in all the right places, covered her mouth and gasped, wide-eyed, at the dramatic parts.    

The girls were not so enchanted.  Blanche had closed her eyes, and Dorothy buried her face in her hands and made an odd little strangling noise.  Rose smiled in earnest, and in her smile, bookended her story with another fleeting thought of Jean.

She tried to shake it.  ‘I’ll get us a cup of coffee,’ she said, rising from the table.  She made a whole pot as she busied herself with little chores in the kitchen.  The girls finished their breakfast, and set about their days.  Rose didn’t need to be in until the afternoon.  She started to head to her room to get ready for the day, anyway, but lingered by the phone.  Dorothy’s address book was right there.

Rose glanced over her shoulder, and reached out for the little leather-bound book.  She couldn’t call.  That was—well, that was too much.  But she could write, she decided.  She thumbed through the pages until she found the one she needed, then placed the book in the exact spot where she had found it.

 

* * *

 

Rose rushed to the mailbox, trying to look nonchalant.  After she sent her letter, she realised that there might be a reply—and the last thing she wanted was the girls asking questions about why she was getting a letter from Jean.  Fortunately, she didn’t have to make many furtive trips to the mailbox before a reply arrived.

She clutched the letter against her chest as she hurried back inside.  In her room, she sat on the edge of the bed and studied the envelope.  Jean’s writing was cursive, with perfectly slanted letters and pragmatic loops.  Rose imagined Jean as a girl on the farm, practicing those letters after her chores. 

The letter had all the kindness of Jean’s demeanour.  She had appreciated receiving the letter, as with any letter, but especially a letter from a new friend.  Rose’s story had made her laugh.  She’d felt better than she had in a long time now that she was home.  Like she could have a good life still, or have a good life again, just different. 

Just different.  Rose closed her eyes, imagined Jean sitting there next to her.  Their legs touching, Jean taking Rose’s hand in her lap.  Turning her head to see Jean there, so close.

Here on her own, outside of the pressure of the moment, out of reach from what everyone might think or say, Rose had to admit—maybe she could understand ‘those feelings’ a tiny bit.  In fact, she rather thought that if she let her mind wander a little more…

No.  She wasn’t ready for all that yet.  She went to search for a pen and paper instead.

 

* * *

  

The letters went on for months.  Dorothy was the first to notice, but didn’t say anything.  Blanche noticed a few weeks later and marched straight into the living room.

‘Why, Rose Nylund, you’ve been getting letters from Jean.’  The others looked up.

Rose tried to look innocent.

‘Letters from Jean?’ she took it from Blanche’s hands and smile.  ‘Oh, Blanche, this is just one letter.’

Blanche put her hands on her hips.  ‘Oh, don’t you try to fool me.  When I went to collect the mail today the mailman was there, complimenting me on this stunning shade of blue,’ Blanche gestured at her blouse and smiled for a moment before continuing accusingly.  ‘He said, “Why Ms Devereaux, I hardly see you these days, it’s always your roommate coming to get her letters.’

Rose shot her an indignant look.  ‘I’m allowed to send letters to anyone I like, Blanche.’

‘So you’ve been *sending* them, too?’ Blanche snapped.  ‘Why Rose, what is this all about?  How come you’re leading that poor woman on?’ 

Rose started to protest, but her trembling bottom lip got the best of her.  ‘You know as well as I do—she said our friendship was enough!’  She raced out of the room before the girls could see her eyes welling with tears.  They heard the door slam behind her.

‘Dorothy, can you believe her?  You need to talk to Jean and get to the bottom of this.  What does Rose think she’s doing?’

Dorothy couldn’t think of a clever comeback.  All that was there was a hunch, and a bit of a worry.  ‘I’m not sure Rose knows what she’s doing.  More than usual I mean.’  Ah, there was the sarcasm.

‘This is no time for a joke.  Now, she can’t go on like this, it’s not fair to Jean.  We have to set her straight.’

‘Not a word, Ma,’ Dorothy said as Sophia’s eyes lit up on the other side of the room.  ‘Let me talk to her.’

 

* * *

  

Dorothy knocked and let herself in.

‘What, have you come to tell me off, too?’ Rose sniffed.

‘No, sweetheart.  I wanted to find out what’s going on.  And I wanted to make sure you’re okay.’

Rose didn’t hold back.  ‘Oh, Dorothy, maybe I was wrong to send her those letters.’  Her voice broke.  ‘I wasn’t trying to lead her on, I promise.  You know as well as I do, Dorothy, she said our friendship was enough!’

‘Is it enough?  For you?’

Rose sat heavily on the bed.  ‘I don’t know.’  She gave a dramatic intake of breath.  ‘I feel like Gerhard Todenhöfer.’

‘Jean, you owe me big time,’ Dorothy muttered under her breath.  ‘Who was Gerhard Todenhöfer?’

‘Gerhard Todenhöfer was one of the most ordinary corn farmers in St Olaf,’ Rose sniffed, and Dorothy felt her eyes roll involuntarily.  ‘Oh, he was a nice enough person, but set in his ways.  Well then, Frieda Hofmann moved next-door.  She wanted her cows to graze on Gerhard’s land during the off-season.  And she wondered if Gerhard might like to come round and do a little grazing, too—but Gerhard said no.  He said he didn’t like cows, can you believe it?  The next season, Frieda would come and ask, and he’d say no, and the next season—'

‘Rose,’ Dorothy warned.

‘Well, eventually,’ Rose continued, ‘as he got very old, his nephew, Klaus Todenhöfer came to tend the farm—and when Frieda came knocking, Klaus told her to go right ahead.  That’s when Gerhard realised—he actually liked cows!  And what’s more, he liked Frieda!’

‘Rose,’ Dorothy interrupted, desperate to hurry things along.  ‘You don’t have to end up like Gerhard if you tell Jean how you feel.’

‘But Dorothy, when Gerhard went to tell Frieda how he felt about her, she slammed the door in his face!  Sure, she might have been interested at first, but years had gone by.’ 

Dorothy studied Rose intently.  ‘Rose—are you saying that you’re worried Jean won’t reciprocate your feelings now?’

‘Dorothy, it’s been over a year since she came to visit us.  You know, when Jean explained she had feelings for me, it was such a surprise.  It felt really scary.  But after she left, I—I miss her, Dorothy.  And I think about her—a lot.  It just sort of… makes me wonder.’

‘Does Jean know that?’

‘Oh, no.  No, I could never wonder with someone else’s feelings.  Besides, if my feelings have changed this much in a year, what about her’s?  It’s not like she will have been sitting around waiting for me.’

‘Well, she probably hasn’t, sweetheart.  Or maybe,’ Dorothy raised a finger pointedly to Rose, ‘if you tell her how you feel, she’ll realise she has.’

Rose closed her eyes for a moment.  She could almost see the perfectly aghast look on Jean’s face if she’d told her about Gerhard not liking cows.  She smiled.

‘I guess if she was brave enough to tell me how she felt—I can do the same.’

‘Then I’ll leave you to it.’  Dorothy stood in the doorway as Rose leapt to her desk and rummaged for a pen and paper. _One of the most ordinary corn farmers in St Olaf_ , she thought.  She shook her head and left the room.  _Lord help them both._

 

* * *

 

 ‘Mail call,’ Blanche said, dancing through the front door. 

‘Male call, Blanche answer,’ Sophia replied.  Blanche grinned.

‘Bills, bills, and boring bills for Dorothy,’ Blanche announced, passing the envelopes to Dorothy.

‘A letter for me from—oh, Bill Hicks.  Now there is a Bill I’m happy to receive.’  She fanned herself with the remaining envelopes.

‘Blanche, what about me?’  Rose asked, hoping not to sound to eager.

‘Oh, yes, darlin’, and—Rose, it’s another letter from that woman!  Are you still carrying on with all this?’

Rose tore open the letter and read it as fast as she could.  Dorothy eyed her from across the room.

‘Rose—what does it say?’

Rose looked up at last and Dorothy could see she was smiling.

‘She asked if I’d like to come visit her.  Her place isn’t far from  a small farm that keeps a few cows.  She says they have the loveliest eyes.’  She gazed off happily.

‘Rose!  Just what do you think you’re doing?’  Blanche demanded.  ‘And doesn’t Jean live in some tiny little one bedroom house?  Won’t she get ideas?’

Rose grinned even harder and blushed.

‘Looks like Rose has already got some ideas,’ Sophia chipped in.  ‘Huh.  There’s something I don’t say every day.’

‘I’m going to go start packing,’ Rose said.  ‘I bet I can get one of those last minute flight deals.’

She rushed out of the room, and Blanche whirled around to Dorothy and Sophia.

‘Girls—we can’t let her go rushing off like this.’

‘She’s not rushing off.  They’ve been writing each other letters for over a year.  Rose hasn’t made this decision lightly.’

‘But Rose loved Charlie.'

‘And you loved George.  We love again.’

Blanche looked thoughtful.  ‘I suppose you’re right.  It’s all still a bit hard to believe, though.  It’ll take some time to sink in, but I’ll try to be supportive.’

‘Of course you will.  She’s found someone that loves her.  I mean, more than that—she’s found someone who loves her St Olaf stories.’ 

Blanche jumped from the couch.

‘Blanche, where are you going?’ Dorothy called.

‘She’s going to start telling those stories to someone else?  Maybe we’ll get a break?  Honey,’ Blanche grabbed her keys, ‘I’m taking her to the airport.’

**Author's Note:**

> I never expected to write a Golden Girls fanfic... but how perfect was Lois Nettleton's performance?!


End file.
